Lunch is... Well. You've gotten used to the tenaciously British cuisine most of wizarding culture favors. The sight of gyro meat wrapped in flatbread, fresh vegetables, and garlic-and-feta laden chips is a surprise. It smells strongly in a way that makes your mouth water.
Sirius says, "And no pomegranates?"
Solus sniffs, as prim as the Malfoys or the Blacks themselves, and says, "Are you implying you'd like to stay here for the next six months, Black?"
"It'd beat the hole I'm in now," Sirius replies. He waves his grandfather's wand over the food, just in case, and you check it yourself, because if you let yourselves get poisoned you'll never hear the end of it from Moody, and then you tuck in. The juxtapositon of wizarding china and street food, you think, covers how off-balance you've been for this entire interaction.
But perhaps you shouldn't have expected any differently from a man whose first homework assignment was checking to see if his students noticed that he didn't use the word 'Muggle' all lesson. You got to that part in Harry's letter and laughed for what felt like twenty minutes. Then with Sirius' permission, you showed it to Moody, and he laughed for half an hour.
Still, it's typical of formal wizarding culture that business is not discussed until after the meal, and Solus seems intent to stick to that much at least. You learned the custom by force, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible growing up; Sirius internalized it on an instinctive level probably before he could speak properly. You compliment the food, and Solus, with something approaching earnestness, admits that it's take-out from a Muggle place about five miles away, kept under warming charm.
"Not that the food at Hogwarts is bad," he says, "but it does leave one with a craving for some... variety after a few months."
You nod and say, "At least Hogsmeade has a burger place now. I used to escape there when I couldn't stand either the Great Hall or the staff room on the weekends."
"The Pot and Kernel?"
"Yes, that's the one."
"No wonder their trash always smelled so good," Sirius muses, which makes Solus frown rather pointedly, as though he's trying to keep an expression of pity off his face the way children try to avoid scrunching up their cheeks around sour candy.
Rather than commenting, he says instead, "Now if only they would make the jump to pizza delivery, then the wizarding world would become truly civilized."
"Ha!" Sirius says. "Can you imagine? Wizards trying to order pizza over the phone?"
"I'd be more worried about students trying to get it delivered to the castle," you say.
"Oh, I can see it now," Sirius says, snorting. "Some poor guy out in robes in front of the Fat Lady like 'order for Gryffindor Tower?'"
"Or worse, owls with pizza," Solus drawls, and that mental image just sets Sirius off again. Against your will, you're starting to like the man.
"You're not what I expected," you say, as you swipe tzaziki up with the last of your pita and make the polite segue towards business.
"I should hope not," Solus replies. He reaches up and snaps his fingers again, and the dishes vanish from the table, leaving behind just your drinks and a variety of elegant little cakes for dessert. "I have made every effort to play to expectations up until recently, and if I play a part it is to perfection. I would not have survived our parents' generation with any less." With that, he inclines his head towards Sirius, who grimaces before nodding.
"To what end, though?" Sirius asks. "I can't imagine it was all for nothing. You wouldn't be tipping your hand unless you thought we could help with your goal - I don't have to be Slytherin to know that, and you're a famous Hatstall. You might've ended up in Ravenclaw, but you can't try to tell me other one wasn't snakes."
"Actually, my stall was between Slytherin and Hufflepuff," Solus says mildly. "Most of my time on the stool was spent arguing that being surrounded by peers who thought in the same way would stifle my development. Hence, Ravenclaw - being of a traditionally Slytherin family, you can understand the reasons, I imagine."
Sirius makes the face again. "To get out from the Slytherin tradition, but in a way that wasn't shameful and didn't make too many waves?" he says. "Yeah, I can see that. Cheers." He lifts his cola in a half-assed toast, and Solus clinks his wine glass against it with a tolerant look.
"Patience, loyalty, and hard work," Solus replies, lifting his glass. "Though my work ethic is the most lacking of the three."
"You expect me to believe that you've been nursing whatever this plot is since you were eleven?" you ask.
"Oh, no, I had no particular ambitions at that point," Solus replies. "Which is likely why I was able to wiggle out of a Slytherin placement at the time. The amibition I've nursed most of my adult life only crystallized in my late teens, when someone got a Howler at the breakfast table the day after the Sorting."
Sirius huffs. You wince, mostly on his behalf. You remember that morning, probably more clearly than Sirius does. You remember the voice of Sirius' mother, screaming for the whole Great Hall to hear, and you remember Lily's aghast look.
"Then your ambition is...?" you ask, intentionally leaving the blank to be filled.
Solus looks at you, considering; he swirls his wine once, twice, and then tips it back and downs the whole thing like a shot. It's impressive in a way fundamentally against his image, impressive in a low-blooded, anti-aristocratic way. Wine's no hot liquor, but taking that much of any drink without stopping has a certain image.
"To bring an end to the epidemic of child abuse that Albus Dumbledore has allowed to thrive within Hogwarts and without," he says, voice cutting and cold. "And for him to see it happen and know why, to know that it was his own actions that brought him down into the dirt. My ambition is to see justice done, to see it touch the untouchable, and in the places that hurt them most. I want to ruin Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, not in the court of law but in the court of public opinion, the court in which he holds the most power and the only court he understands, and by the time we're done here today, Remus Lupin, you'll want to help me, because you are at the end of the day a decent man, and you won't be able to live with yourself if you don't."
no subject
Sirius says, "And no pomegranates?"
Solus sniffs, as prim as the Malfoys or the Blacks themselves, and says, "Are you implying you'd like to stay here for the next six months, Black?"
"It'd beat the hole I'm in now," Sirius replies. He waves his grandfather's wand over the food, just in case, and you check it yourself, because if you let yourselves get poisoned you'll never hear the end of it from Moody, and then you tuck in. The juxtapositon of wizarding china and street food, you think, covers how off-balance you've been for this entire interaction.
But perhaps you shouldn't have expected any differently from a man whose first homework assignment was checking to see if his students noticed that he didn't use the word 'Muggle' all lesson. You got to that part in Harry's letter and laughed for what felt like twenty minutes. Then with Sirius' permission, you showed it to Moody, and he laughed for half an hour.
Still, it's typical of formal wizarding culture that business is not discussed until after the meal, and Solus seems intent to stick to that much at least. You learned the custom by force, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible growing up; Sirius internalized it on an instinctive level probably before he could speak properly. You compliment the food, and Solus, with something approaching earnestness, admits that it's take-out from a Muggle place about five miles away, kept under warming charm.
"Not that the food at Hogwarts is bad," he says, "but it does leave one with a craving for some... variety after a few months."
You nod and say, "At least Hogsmeade has a burger place now. I used to escape there when I couldn't stand either the Great Hall or the staff room on the weekends."
"The Pot and Kernel?"
"Yes, that's the one."
"No wonder their trash always smelled so good," Sirius muses, which makes Solus frown rather pointedly, as though he's trying to keep an expression of pity off his face the way children try to avoid scrunching up their cheeks around sour candy.
Rather than commenting, he says instead, "Now if only they would make the jump to pizza delivery, then the wizarding world would become truly civilized."
"Ha!" Sirius says. "Can you imagine? Wizards trying to order pizza over the phone?"
"I'd be more worried about students trying to get it delivered to the castle," you say.
"Oh, I can see it now," Sirius says, snorting. "Some poor guy out in robes in front of the Fat Lady like 'order for Gryffindor Tower?'"
"Or worse, owls with pizza," Solus drawls, and that mental image just sets Sirius off again. Against your will, you're starting to like the man.
"You're not what I expected," you say, as you swipe tzaziki up with the last of your pita and make the polite segue towards business.
"I should hope not," Solus replies. He reaches up and snaps his fingers again, and the dishes vanish from the table, leaving behind just your drinks and a variety of elegant little cakes for dessert. "I have made every effort to play to expectations up until recently, and if I play a part it is to perfection. I would not have survived our parents' generation with any less." With that, he inclines his head towards Sirius, who grimaces before nodding.
"To what end, though?" Sirius asks. "I can't imagine it was all for nothing. You wouldn't be tipping your hand unless you thought we could help with your goal - I don't have to be Slytherin to know that, and you're a famous Hatstall. You might've ended up in Ravenclaw, but you can't try to tell me other one wasn't snakes."
"Actually, my stall was between Slytherin and Hufflepuff," Solus says mildly. "Most of my time on the stool was spent arguing that being surrounded by peers who thought in the same way would stifle my development. Hence, Ravenclaw - being of a traditionally Slytherin family, you can understand the reasons, I imagine."
Sirius makes the face again. "To get out from the Slytherin tradition, but in a way that wasn't shameful and didn't make too many waves?" he says. "Yeah, I can see that. Cheers." He lifts his cola in a half-assed toast, and Solus clinks his wine glass against it with a tolerant look.
You, instead, repeat, "Hufflepuff?" incredulously.
"Patience, loyalty, and hard work," Solus replies, lifting his glass. "Though my work ethic is the most lacking of the three."
"You expect me to believe that you've been nursing whatever this plot is since you were eleven?" you ask.
"Oh, no, I had no particular ambitions at that point," Solus replies. "Which is likely why I was able to wiggle out of a Slytherin placement at the time. The amibition I've nursed most of my adult life only crystallized in my late teens, when someone got a Howler at the breakfast table the day after the Sorting."
Sirius huffs. You wince, mostly on his behalf. You remember that morning, probably more clearly than Sirius does. You remember the voice of Sirius' mother, screaming for the whole Great Hall to hear, and you remember Lily's aghast look.
"Then your ambition is...?" you ask, intentionally leaving the blank to be filled.
Solus looks at you, considering; he swirls his wine once, twice, and then tips it back and downs the whole thing like a shot. It's impressive in a way fundamentally against his image, impressive in a low-blooded, anti-aristocratic way. Wine's no hot liquor, but taking that much of any drink without stopping has a certain image.
"To bring an end to the epidemic of child abuse that Albus Dumbledore has allowed to thrive within Hogwarts and without," he says, voice cutting and cold. "And for him to see it happen and know why, to know that it was his own actions that brought him down into the dirt. My ambition is to see justice done, to see it touch the untouchable, and in the places that hurt them most. I want to ruin Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, not in the court of law but in the court of public opinion, the court in which he holds the most power and the only court he understands, and by the time we're done here today, Remus Lupin, you'll want to help me, because you are at the end of the day a decent man, and you won't be able to live with yourself if you don't."